


feel

by 9nlyAFewTriggers (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Person, M/M, Sadstuck, are those still a thidng, but it's Sollux I swear, hinted suicide, m' bad, polaroid pictures, tbh this could probably be anyone interacting with eridan, woah sads suddenly haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/9nlyAFewTriggers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And at first I didn't understand how someone could not be able to feel, so I repeated it a few times until the word was bitter in my mouth and it probably wasn't real anymore. </p><p>But all at one the thought of not understanding and the thought of not feeling crashed together into a presence that was like a science experiment gone wrong, because I knew all too well what it felt like to not feel, how could I not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S 12 AM AND IM SAD AND I WAS IN THE MOOD TO WRITE YOU CAN'T HOLD ME RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS
> 
> also written and published on an ipod, pardon me for any spelling or grammar errors, i'm lazy

He told me he didn't know how to feel. 

And at first I didn't understand how someone could not be able to feel, so I repeated it a few times until the word was bitter in my mouth and it probably wasn't real anymore. 

But all at one the thought of not understanding and the thought of not feeling crashed together into a presence that was like a science experiment gone wrong, because I knew all too well what it felt like to not feel, how could I not?

And I guess the undeniable understanding washed over my face all at once because he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, in a cocky way that couldn't be cocky in his current state of being. 

He wasn't even being. 

He was just there most days, all blonde-and-purple hair and blue eyes that saw but didn't see and fingers that felt but didn't feel. 

It sort of made me guilty to realize that I had ignored the fact that he was hurting, but I realized that I was selfish and I tried to make him realize that, too, so he could understand that I knew what he was talking about but I didn't know how to make him feel any more or any less. 

Ringed fingers, calloused from playing guitar almost his whole life, tangled together with each other and he wasn't quite sure how to react, because he swayed back and his face twisted up sort of like he was in pain, and he whispered two simple words. 

"I know."

The fact that he knew in itself made me angry, and all at once I was yelling at him about nothing and everything, because did he think he knew everything? Why did he have to be such a whiny asshole?

Would he feel something if I hit him?

And at those words he seemed to freeze, his gaze locking on mine and I didn't know why he looked like I had murdered his brother until I realized what I had said, and all at once his walls crashed down and I swear I saw all expression and hope and love and passion in his eyes fall, fall to reveal the sadness and emptiness that was behind them all along. 

And I hated myself, hated myself as he turned away and grabbed his camera, walked out of our shared apartment and I wasn't sure where he was going but I knew it wasn't going to be some safe haven. It took me a few minutes to get my mind in order and to tell my legs to move, but when I could finally place one foot in front of the other I wasn't walking, I was running, and I wondered if maybe I stood there contemplating for a few hours instead of a few seconds because he was nowhere to be found. 

Probably all too late I remembered his favorite place, remembered that he told me that he often thought about delving deep, finding creatures no one has found before. And all at once I was shaking my head, cursing myself and my bipolarity, swearing that if I didn't find him I'd never forgive myself. 

The ocean was always beautiful before that day. But when I found his camera laying on the sand, freshly printed polaroid resting next to it, I screamed at the ocean and at the sky and at myself, and at the possibility that Eridan's body was resting at the bottom of the ocean or the thought that pills were resting at the bottom of his stomach. 

The picture was a shot he took of himself, smiling and blowing a kiss to the camera though I could see tear tracks on his cheeks. My eyes moved to the words written delicately in sharpie at the bottom:

_"2/14/14  
i'm going to feel again"_

**Author's Note:**

> this made no sense i am sorry


End file.
